HB: SMALL AND ROUND, MON 7.25.2011 MOR

Crew: Christina, Dave

Time: 0745-1045, 3 hrs.

Conditions: Sunny, warm, empty, faint onshore wind, 2-3 feet, inconsistent, shallow, but . . . FUN.

The Call:

     It's no secret that surf is flat right now. I don't know if all my fellow west coast surfers have been glued to the reports as I have, just hoping and waiting for some kind of pulse to upgrade the forecast. Last night Christina presented the idea of heading to Central Cali, all the way up to Surf Beach by Vanderburg AFB, fucking three hours away. I was surprised to hear that signs of surf escaped my radar, so I took a look at the forecast and found huge green and yellow arrows which indicated blown out conditions. I told Chris the bad news, and she expressed her frustration from the lack of local swell. I think we all can relate.

     I didn't expect to travel for surf this Monday. Why travel for an extra foot that's not guaranteed? And then I thought about how my bro gave me his state parking pass for HB. It expires after August, and I haven't surfed there once since being home. El Porto was predicted to be 1-2 foot ankle slappers, while HB was 2-3 feet and inconsistent. I looked at Monday's roster and made some calls. Khang didn't answer, and Francis had to stay local because of work. I could've stayed home and kept it simple. Could have.

The HB Gamble:

     Despite just over four hours of sleep, I wake up at 0530 before my alarm goes off. I manage to pour some cereal and yesterday's old coffee. The JS is back at Rick's shop, so I knock the dust off the DMS. The poor board's lamination is coming off. I don't know how many more sessions she has in her, but she's still a loyal and trusty beast. I look out the window and Christina is by my car. I look at my watch. It's 0600. Punctual. Just as I'm about to head out the door I get a phone call from Deathwish Dave. He says that he's almost home and needs to grab his board. He's behind schedule, but he offers to drive and meet us himself.

     I kiss Lauren goodbye, and we're on the road mixing with the morning traffic. The sun is rising above a small patch of clouds making a bright orange background in the horizon. Rolling with Chris is like hanging out with one of the fellas. I treat her like a guy and blow a fart or two her way. It's the ethical thing to do because we are friends. Also, I think she likes the smell. She's just that kind of girl, a surfer girl.

     As we pull up to the state beach parking my phone rings. It's Dave, and he's already around the corner. The internal guilt begins. I don't know if it's a military thing, but I have to be on time. If I plan something, the ducks MUST fall in a row. On this morning, Dave was behind schedule, but he got here just as fast as we did.

     Chris and I hit the pissers first before checking out the surf. “It's so quiet,” she says. She's right. The air is stale, there isn't a cloud blocking the sun, the ground is heating up, and the parking lot is a few cars short of being deserted. This worries me. I worry that the ocean is mimicking it's surroundings. Please don't be a lake out there, I think to myself. We take the path that I've referred to as me and my brother's. Approaching the shore, I see no sign of surf, but once we walk up to the lifeguard tower we see more. To our south there are about a dozen surfers hovering around some scattered peaks, and in front of us there are only two guys. It looks like a small day that wants to be bigger. It's barely three feet, but the waves are still pitchy and fast. Small peaks form slowly, but the lip folds down fast with the precision of an envelope seal. The chain reaction pushes the racy sections in both directions with welcoming shoulders for those quick enough to pop up. Still, it's a small day, but I'm just emphasizing how it's such a different wave from El Porto and San O.

     Two to three foot surf here looks better than a Porto ankle slapper any day. We're stoked, so we head back to suit up. We see Dave crossing the street in the distance, and we meet him on shore. I run them both through the HB basics that my bro taught me: watch the towers to see if you're drifting, fight the current if you can, watch out for the shallow inside, and prepare for a faster wave.

     The water is kind of warm. Not warm enough to trunk it, but it's not as cold as it's been. There are only two guys to our north. Everything seems so wide open here. I catch a couple waves that are fast rides on the inside, nothing impressive. I go for my first outside wave of the day and paddle at the peak. Just as I'm popping up, the lip throws me forward. It's a classic “welcome back to HB” moment. Respect the wave.

     Soon Dave and Chris join me, but the current takes them a little north next to the other two dudes. I see a rare jewel, a long but shouldery peak forming on the outside. Dave sits in the impact zone, and I see him lie on his longboard to paddle for it. “Dave, watch out!” I yell. I assume he's going. Bad move in HB. The waves look slow, but they'll turn on you. It passes Dave, so he's all right. Chris starts off by catching the waves a little too late. I see her turning and paddling while the wave is only moments away from going round. I expect her to eat it, but she emerges in front of the wave and heads for shore. Not bad.

     The water's really shallow for a “high tide.” Other than the few gems, the waves break close to shore over shallow water, but to my surprise these are fun rides. On that tiny DMS, I'm managing to put in a decent wave count. Kicking and splashing water everywhere, I muscle my way in. These waves are familiar. They are the ones that I couldn't catch the last time I was here. Instead of popping up to see the section running away, I'm getting up faster, pointing my nose down the line, and somehow making the open face. These tiny waves get a little bigger towards the inside, and even though I'm over shallow water they are doubling up with open shoulders. The lefts are the best. As the section builds I draw a new high line to keep my momentum. It's enough to practice my frontside cutbacks and topturns. What my brother says makes sense: “Stay in the critical part of the wave to get your turns down.” I do, and it gives me more speed to work with which makes my turns easier.

     I get pitched on another wave, and I just slide off my board as I air drop; I'm not gonna make it. Dave and Chris are paying some dues as well. I see Dave paddling, but his nose keeps purling, and he either slides backwards or over the front. We talk about finding the sweet spot on the board, when to shift your weight to the front or the back, etc. Chris is going through the same thing too. I see her paddling for waves, disappearing, then her board shooting out while she's under. It's a different wave, I've had HB sessions where I do nothing but eat shit, but I'm stoked to see that they aren't backing out; they are going for it. With that mentality, their surfing can only get better.

     The onshore wind puts a little texture on the water, but we can barely feel it. Dolphins swim parallel to shore going back and forth. We even see a baby dolphin swimming close to its mother. Dave finds something that looks like half seahorse, half sea snake and picks it up. Chris and I can't help but paddle over for a look.

     There's window when the outside waves get a little consistent. I hunt for lefts, but I still get some three foot rights that line up nicely. I never get more than two turns on a wave, but the rights are so fast that my top turns hit the lip as they're coming down. I'd like to think it's a critical turn, but it probably doesn't look as cool as I imagine. I catch a small left that stands up so much that I can't help but lean my head in the curl. Clearly not a barrel, but I look down the line to see the shoulder building. One day.

     Chris makes her adjustments. She wipes out less and rides the face of the waves. Dave and I comment on her poses that she makes, one arm extended with her hip pointed forward. I paddle next to Dave to see if I can assist. I call a wave in the distance and make him paddle with me. We're going, and it's setting up for his longboard. Just as the wave picks him up I see his nose already under the water. He purls his board. Too much in front. We discuss how it's hard to “show someone how to surf.” We can demonstrate fundamentals and give pointers, but it's really up to the individual to get the wave. Dave's a living example, as I later see him stand up on his board for a short ride. He resurfaces smiling. I give him the thumbs up and say, “Still counts. You caught a wave!” On another outside wave I see him paddling for it. It looks like the wave's about to leave him, but he doesn't let up and drops in. I have to duckdive the wave, so I don't know how long his ride is, but it's something he should be proud of.

     By the end of the third hour the lulls are longer. It's a struggle to get that last wave, the cherry on top. Instead of cherries we get something else, but at least we don't paddle in. It turns out that Dave has to go somewhere in the OC anyway, so it works out that he drove on his own. Chris and I head back. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but we make it in good time.

Fro-Yo. Much healthier. Because I only live healthy.

     In my home, I kill off a huge plate of last night's pasta. For dessert, I have a huge bowl of frozen yogurt with two of Lauren's homemade chocolate chip cookies. Surfer fuel. It would've been nice if the surf was a little more consistent, but we milked as much as we could out of it. The gamble proved to be a good one. Someone said that the best surfer is the one having the most fun. We did have fun even though the forecast predicted that we wouldn't. Sometimes surfing is what we make of it, not just the conditions.